


Glow

by RurouniHime



Series: Spark [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: “It boils down to one fact.” Tony looks into the distance, brow deep with lines. The sunset is gorgeous. Not that any of them are paying it the least bit of attention. “We need the stones.”“I know,” Steve says through his teeth.





	Glow

It was their idea. It was _their own damned idea,_ his and Tony’s, and now Steve’s wishing he had never contributed, that he’d kept stubbornly quiet no matter how often Tony looked to him, each time plunging him back years to when every decision was made with a nod, a smirk, a shift of the eyes, but—

He hadn’t known it would turn out like this.

“It boils down to one fact.” Tony looks into the distance, brow deep with lines. The sunset is gorgeous. Not that any of them are paying it the least bit of attention. “We need the stones.” 

“I know,” Steve says through his teeth. But the stones alone will be of little use, if they can even figure out a way to get them, and Thanos’ gauntlet was a crumpled husk just before he backed through the gap in space and time, leaving their universe shredded. 

“It’s not just any glove. We need— _I_ need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I _know.”_

 _There is a mold on Nidavellir._ That had been Thor. The discussion had carried on from there, like watching a meteor plummet toward the ground, and now all Steve can do is stand here and watch their group rip apart again.

He’s trying: to accept, to shake off the last week, to move forward. To breathe. It felt good last night to finally make a decision, to look around at his ragtag team and see agreement in every eye. _We have the ship,_ he’d said. Confidence, through and through. _And we have pilots. Thor knows the way._

Waiting on Earth was always going to be the hardest task, but somebody had to do it: someone had to plant his feet until he couldn’t anymore, then pace back and forth over ground and thought alike until his soles and his soul ached equally. 

“I’m going with you,” even though he’s tried this before, even though he knows it can’t be.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks old, tired. “We can’t all go. Someone has to stay here and meet whoever’s coming.”

And someone _is_ coming. All Steve has is an old SHIELD code, singing to them in blips, dits, and dashes, spiraling closer and closer through space. Steve called Clint in yesterday, but if not for Nat, no one else in Wakanda would have recognized that code, been able to validate what he thought he was hearing. An old cypher, one of Phil Coulson’s, for god’s sake. Should have been defunct long before Hydra burst out of SHIELD’s guts, but it’s exactly that which tells Steve they can trust it, and Natasha agrees.

Hell, Tony agrees. Hydra’s dead. And what would any stragglers want with a dusty string of Morse code anyway? What could they do that’s worse than what’s already been done? 

Steve stares at Tony, and knows the answer to that. 

The worst they could do to Steve now is kill Tony Stark. It’s one death, tiny in this big, wide universe. If it comes to pass, it will eviscerate him.

( _At any rate, she, he—_ they’re _on their way,_ Tony had said, and Nat had sighed. _Someone has to be here._ )

Steve used to be their leader. Steve will speak for them all if they need him to. He’s used to making tough decisions. Sending Rhodey and Nat out to locate Wong is hard enough. Letting Thor go back into space is worse. But he hadn’t counted on Tony leaving, too, and he should have. Of course, Tony. There’s a reason this Strange person made sure Tony lived, at the expense of everyone else.

A blessing at first, to believe that victory hinges on Tony Stark’s survival; all Steve wants to do anyway is keep him alive. But now the talking is done. Now Nebula preps her ship for take-off, now Tony hugs Rhodey at the bottom of the gangplank, and Steve waits for the ice.

 _Always_ ice. It’s what he does, what he is: He fights with Tony, everything inside goes block solid; Bucky goes under, Steve freezes over.

Today is… different.

Today he’s a furnace, bubbling, searing. The space under his ribs is filled with a trillion particles slamming around, a kinetic hive of energy that threatens to blow up his throat into the open. He has no idea what sound it will make, but knows it will be ugly. Unstoppable.

Any second now and he will _do_ something. He keeps not looking at it, but he doesn’t need to see it to know in his guts what it is.

He believes in learning from past mistakes, because the lessons they teach are only offered once. He’s had his freebie: they broke, utterly, he and Tony, and then by some miracle they clawed their way back to each other. It will not happen again. 

If he lets Tony out of his sight, they will never reunite. One of them will die.

Bruce comes to say his goodbyes. Rhodey claps Steve on the back. Steve barely notices. The world narrows, foot by foot, and a single column of color pours up as though flooding straight out of Steve’s thoughts.

There is _no place_ for this. All of Steve knows it. Most of Steve has become incapable of caring.

They’d received word three nights ago: She’s still alive. Half of New York is gone, but Pepper was spared. 

Steve hadn’t waited to see the effect; he’d quietly excused himself from the meeting and went to his room, shutting doors, shutting down. Until he woke in the morning to find everything gaping open again, wide and raw and obstinate, without a trace of regret.

Tony had walked around blank faced for two days, his jaw rigid and his steps swift. Each day, the endless stream of things that needed to be done or decided upon wedged them apart. Each night, Steve sealed everything up. 

Each morning, it all sprang open again.

And now, all the time that he had is rattling away through a drain in the floor. He used to have more years than anyone else, so much time that it smelted rocks to his feet, dragged him back. Down.

What he wouldn’t give now for one more _hour._

 _And what the hell do you think you would do with it?_ Oh, he knows what he’d do with it. His heart thuds in his ears, counting down, until Tony is nothing but a throb of light and heat mere feet away, and then he’s reaching, fingers sliding—locking—around Tony’s wrist. It hisses from him on a breath. “I’m sorry.”

_For Siberia. For your parents._

_It’s not important,_ Tony’d said when Steve had first voiced his apology. But it _is_ important and Steve is still sorry. He has forgiven Tony for everything, but still can’t imagine being forgiven for anything he’s done. They stand, under a sinking sun in a frozen world, and all the warmth Steve knows flickers bright and hot under his palm.

Tony turns his wrist in Steve’s grasp and curls his fingers around Steve’s arm. 

Pulls him in.

They stop short, their foreheads brushing, Steve’s hair hanging between their faces and Tony’s eyes dark on his. Steve tilts his head as the shame at last rears, forces his eyes shut. He’s not this man. He’s not this person. But he can’t. He can’t stop. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, most of all for doing this to Tony when Pepper is still alive, “Tony, I’m so _sorry—_ ”

Tony yanks him in, clasps the back of his head, and meets their mouths. 

He tastes of coffee. Steve exhales in a burst, thrusts his chin up into the kiss. The rest of the world and everyone in it washes away. He wraps both arms around Tony, lifts him, hauls him closer. He’s thinner than Steve remembers, weighs less, sharper, bonier, but solid in a way Steve has missed for _two years,_ and it catches against Steve’s lungs like life, like existing, like it used to catch there, stuttering his breath and swelling his heart, threatening to dry-drown him. It should be torture; it should be a nightmare. It’s nothing close. For the first time in two years, he feels right again. He feels so much better than he ever did.

“Tony.” He breathes it over Tony’s lips. Maybe he doesn’t say a word. He kisses Tony harder than he’s ever kissed anyone, celebrates the weight of him, the unsteady clutch of his own arms, the hitch as Tony arches against him, the heft under his hand as he braces the underside of Tony’s thigh, as Tony wrestles the kiss under his own control. This heat, Steve will never have enough of. This weight, he will never be worthy of carrying.

It ends, too soon.

Tony breaks away with a gasp, takes Steve’s face in both hands and presses their foreheads together again. “I _will_ see you again.” The words shake over Steve’s mouth, fragile, yet thudding down like bricks. Tony’s fingers snarl in Steve’s hair, tightening to the point of pain, but every inch of it solidifies the spark in Steve’s chest, igniting a steady golden glow.

Steve nods, helpless. He never actually manages words. Just a sound, pressed again to Tony’s mouth. Again. Again.

Again.

“We should go.” Nebula stands at the top of the ramp, looking straight at them with a rapt tilt to her head. Tony’s eyes squeeze shut, one tighter than the other; Steve brushes his thumb over the pinched edge of Tony’s mouth, his throat hot and full.

“Such a killjoy,” Tony sighs. One eye opens, tracks Steve’s face, and his grimace softens to something tender.

Steve doesn’t care about the heat in his cheeks, doesn’t care that Thor is there watching from the innards of the ship. He opens his mouth and the words finally come: “Don’t go.”

Tony shuts his eyes, but it’s too late to close that door; Steve states his truth. “If you leave, I’ll never see y—” 

Tony’s thumbs press firmly to Steve’s jaw. _“Yes._ You will.” He touches their mouths once more and gives Steve a firm little shake. “Steve. You will.”

He grabs Tony’s hand, grips it tightly between them. _Swear to me. Swear it._ He can’t ask for that. It can’t be given.

He lets Tony go. 

There was never any other ending.

He doesn’t watch him board. He fixes his eyes to the ground as Tony’s steps clank up the ramp. Then he can look, but even that is a punch straight to his belly: Tony stands half in darkness, one arm raised to brace on the top of the hatch, staring back at him. The ramp starts to lift. Steve watches Tony vanish little by little from view, and wishes he’d kissed him again.

Just once more.

He shuts his eyes, doesn’t open them again until the ship has lifted off, up and out of sight into the darkening blue. By the time he does look up, it could be any one of a hundred surfacing pricks of light. His hands twitch, nothing to hold.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry to leave you where I leave you.
> 
> BTW the Morse code is coming from Carol, rocketing her way as fast as she can to Earth in response to Fury's page. Because that was a page. Omg Fury, a pager? I mean, I know she ain't been back planetside for a couple decades but omg Fury. Hill, how did you allow this? 
> 
> No, wait, you know Maria was like, "Nick. NICK. WTF staahhhhp Howard Stark is doing the damned Charleston in his grave do you want to take responsibility for that level of global catastrophe what even."
> 
> And then Carol gets back and is like, where's Phil, take me to Phil. And Steve is like, I'm so sorry, he's dead. And Carol's like, uh, no, not even a little bit, never mind, I'LL take you to HIM and also I'll fix Other Shit he's got going on. And Steve is like, ...SONUVABITCH FURY. And then Tony and Thor have to come back just to pitch equal spazzes about Everything.


End file.
